


Gods AU Requests

by nervousn8



Series: Found Family Amongst Gods [6]
Category: Minecraft (Video Game), Video Blogging RPF
Genre: Author is a TommyInnit Apologist (Video Blogging RPF), Blood and Violence, Broken Family, Brotherblade, Death, Doomsday, Dream Team SMP Angst (Video Blogging RPF), Gods AU, How Many Times Can I Kill TommyInnit, Hurt No Comfort, I Promise Techno Does Care For Him, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Please be warned, Sad Parental Phil Watson (Video Blogging RPF), Technoblade Hears Voices (Video Blogging RPF), Tommy Is An Unreliable Narrator, Winged TommyInnit (Video Blogging RPF)
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-02-16
Updated: 2021-03-02
Packaged: 2021-03-18 08:27:42
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 5
Words: 8,289
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29486772
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nervousn8/pseuds/nervousn8
Summary: If you're a fan of my Found Family Amongst Gods AU and you have certain things you really want to see that I haven't done yet, boy do I have a treat for you!
Relationships: Technoblade & TommyInnit & Phil Watson (Video Blogging RPF), Technoblade & TommyInnit (Video Blogging RPF), Toby Smith | Tubbo & TommyInnit, TommyInnit & Phil Watson (Video Blogging RPF), Wilbur Soot & Technoblade & TommyInnit & Phil Watson
Series: Found Family Amongst Gods [6]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2094159
Comments: 61
Kudos: 342





	1. i have dreamt about what it's like to die

**Author's Note:**

> This first chapter is just angst i wrote unprompted, however, this is the chapter where you can leave requests! I'll write just about anything save for smut because ew, so honestly have at it. i'm still getting a grasp of certain characters as well as trying to write without being biased (mmm projecting), so this will be a great exercise for me to do so. ngl I'm excited to see if y'all even want requests. I'll update the tags if this goes anywhere, and if not, oh well you know

title for this chapter is from "the same things happening to me all the time even in my dreams" by teen suicide, and ngl i feel like the lyrics of this song fit tommy really well

* * *

Tommy was always going to have to choose. 

He’d known that for- well. He’d known that for a long time, yet in retrospect, it hadn’t been that long. He thinks he may have known it since they’d taken Connor hostage. When they’d gone home, and Techno had gone to bed, Tommy had seen Dream staring at him in the mirror. Tommy had been Dream. 

But minor terrorism had been what Techno wanted, and as long as Tommy proved that he was useful in achieving that, Techno wouldn’t give him back to Dream. Their temporary alliance would continue, and Tommy could keep tricking himself into believing that Techno liked him. 

Things had gotten all twisty when he threatened Fundy to the point of tears. There was a distinct difference in causing psychological harm to someone he didn’t know versus his  _ nephew. _ Fundy was just a kid. They’d kept twisting, twirling all around his lungs and tightening until he couldn’t breathe anymore. Tommy couldn’t keep justifying all of these actions when all he could see was the fear in Fundy’s eyes directed at  _ him. _ He looked in the mirror yet again, and Dream looked right back.

So, Tommy was always going to have to choose. He hadn’t known when he’d have to choose, or who he would choose, but he knew that someday he would. 

And he had. He’d made his choice. He’d chosen Tubbo. 

Now all he had left to do was face the consequences.

Technoblade has always gotten this  _ look _ on his face when the voices get too loud. Tommy remembers it vividly, recognizes it instantly, accepts his fate not long after that. Phil had shielded him from it throughout his childhood, but Techno had complained on multiple occasions that the voices liked Tommy too much to let Techno kill him.

Tommy still knew what the wild, red eyes meant. Tommy still memorized the way Techno’s breathing would change, and his feet would fall heavier. He made sure he knew what it looked like because he’d  _ seen _ what happened when the voices got too loud. When they took over. That’s why, on some level, he’d almost been able to forgive Techno for the withers after Wilbur died. For Tubbo’s execution. 

So he knows, as Techno drives his sword through Tommy’s chest, as the air around them explodes with Dream’s TNT and Phil’s withers, that Techno isn’t really seeing him. 

Bright red eyes stare down at him, a snarl curling across Techno’s face as he keeps shouting about Tommy never seeing him as a person. About being betrayed, about being used. He’d done so much for Tommy, and this is how Tommy repays him?

_ He sounds like Dream. _

Fire licks off of Techno’s sword and across the plains of Tommy’s armorless chest, burning the skin of his torso as it goes. Tommy cries out in pain, sobbing hoarsely as his skin cooks while it’s still attached to his body. Blood bubbles out of his mouth, coating his teeth, slipping all over his tongue like it did when he bit his lips too hard.

This was always where Tommy was going to end up. Not necessarily on the blade of Techno’s sword, but dying nonetheless. He knew this was where he would be by the time the day was over. 

When he’d finally had to make his decision, it hadn’t really been that hard. It hurt him, sure, made tears slowly wind their way around his esophagus, but the decision was made long before he ever acknowledged that he’d made it.

Techno was going to blow up L’manburg. He’d known that for months, having been sitting on it since Techno deemed him well enough to show him the vault of wither skulls. Though he’d given Tommy the option to sit it out, Tommy had been far too afraid that Techno wouldn’t see him as useful, and he couldn’t let that happen. He craved Techno’s approval far more than he would ever admit to himself, and for a small time, he’d been willing to do anything for it. 

But Techno always left, and Tubbo never did. Tommy understood why Tubbo exiled him, why he didn’t visit, and he wasn’t mad anymore. Tommy couldn’t stand by and watch Techno blow up the home Tubbo worked so hard for, and he couldn’t participate either. 

So it’d been easy. Tommy made the decision with little effort, choosing the person who had chosen him back every single time, save for once. 

Tommy knew he’d die today. He’d made peace with that fact the moment he woke up.

If he’d chosen Techno instead of Tubbo, he would have had to fight Tubbo. He would have let Tubbo kill him, just like he nearly did in the corpse of the Community House. Tubbo’s anger at him would have been justified, and Tubbo has always been a good fighter, and Tommy wouldn’t have had the heart to kill Tubbo anyway. 

Tubbo would’ve killed him, and then maybe Phil or Techno would have killed Tubbo as revenge, and Tommy couldn’t have that. 

It’d been easy to choose Tubbo for a lot of reasons, but it mostly boiled down to what Tommy knew. He knew that Technoblade hated him. He knew that the only reason Techno hadn’t killed him yet was because the voices like him so much. Techno told him that himself, and he’d said it like he was joking, but Tommy still knew.

He knew, the moment he chose Tubbo, that Technoblade would be the one to kill him if they had to fight. Techno had been the one who taught him to fight. Techno had thousands of years under his belt- countless wars that didn’t include the one he’d fought for Tommy, and Tommy was only sixteen. 

So, as the Blood God stares down at him instead of Techno, Tommy finds he’s almost at peace. 

The ground is jagged against his back, and he thinks his arm might be broken, and Techno is still shouting at him over the sounds of explosives, but Tommy finds that he’s strangely okay with this. He’s terrified of Techno in this moment, and he has never felt more heartbroken than the moment Techno’s sword broke through the center of his chest, but he’d been expecting this. He was already prepared for this.

Ashy tears cloud his vision and sting his eyes, and the blood he keeps coughing up is splattering all over Techno’s face, but Tommy’s okay. At least it wasn’t Tubbo who died today. That was all Tommy had been trying to avoid.

Through fuzzy vision, Tommy watches Phil descend from the air and shove Techno away with brute force and probably a little bit of magic. Techno is big, and he’s all doped up on strength potions, so Phil wouldn’t have been able to move him without assistance. The force with which Techno is flung away jostles the sword that pins Tommy to the ground, and as the edges make contact with his skin, another wave of fire crawls across his already burning flesh. Tommy cries out, and Phil cries with him.

“Not you too,” Phil shouts, sinking to his knees by Tommy’s side. “Fucking hell, _not you too!”_

This is how Wilbur died, wasn’t it? The sword of someone who was supposed to love him through his chest, and Phil cradling his body. The irony is enough to make Tommy laugh, but it all just sounds like sobs as they crumble out of his mouth. Phil cries with him, wiping away the tears from Tommy's soot-soaked face with trembling hands.

He grasps the sword and yanks it out of the ground and out of Tommy, gritting his teeth when Tommy cries out yet again. More flames roll across his blackened skin. Phil tosses the sword away and gathers Tommy up into his arms, weeping when burnt flesh sticks to his clothes and his armor and slowly peels off.

“Heya, Phil,” Tommy chokes, cracking a smile as the flames finally dissolve around his neck. “Funny meeting you here, innit?”

“Now isn’t the time for joking, Toms,” Phil hisses, brushing blond bangs away from Tommy’s forehead.

“Course it is,” Tommy whispers in return, coughing around a slightly hysteric giggle. “What better place to cash in my chips than in the arms of the God of Death?” Phil makes a complicated noise at Tommy’s words, and Tommy chokes on laughter harder. “Kickin’ the bucket. Givin’ up the ghost. C’mon, Phil, I’m fuckin funny.”

Phil cracks a smile, a small one, but tears keep falling out of his eyes. Tommy wonders if he’d cried when he killed Wilbur. At least he knows Phil didn’t hate him all that much.

“Phil-” it’s Technoblade, now, voice clearer and breaths less ragged. Tommy’s glad it’s him and not the Blood God this time. He’s glad Techno’s eyes have gone back to normal. Techno sees him, and his eyes go wide, and it’s almost comically funny to watch all eight and a half feet of him sink to his knees and then still have to hunch to be close. 

“Tommy-” Techno says, chokes on it like it burns him, and Tommy’s eyes must really be blurring because he thinks he can see tears. Maybe it’s raining. He knows good and well that Techno doesn’t cry- especially over people like him. Mortals. 

“Hey, big man,” Tommy answers, or he tries to, but his tongue is all heavy and he’s struggling to catch his breath. He’s really fucking tired, too, and that’s saying something considering he hasn’t felt this kind of tired in a long time. This is the kind of tiredness that means he’s about to sleep really well, and it’s been ages since the last time he slept well.

Techno’s ripping off his cloak before Tommy’s hazy mind can process it, and then he’s pressing it down onto the hole in Tommy’s chest. It probably stings, but Tommy can’t exactly feel that, so it’s not too big of a deal. He appreciates Techno trying to help him, even if he seems to forget that the sword went all the way through.

“I’m sorry,” Techno snarls, and the words take Tommy by surprise. He’s never heard Techno apologize before, and now the apologies won’t seem to stop. They bubble out of him rapidly, much the same pace as the blood that keeps leaking from between the remnants of Tommy’s severed spine. “I’m so sorry.”

Tommy doesn’t really have the breath left to tell Techno that he knew this was going to happen. There are far too many words he wants to say, many of which are incredibly vulgar, but he’s too tired to attempt some kind of monologue. People don’t usually retain anything he says when he gives his speeches anyway. 

“Don’t worry, Blade,” Tommy murmurs, choking on blood that’s thick like ocean water with none of the painful salt. “M’ not mad.”

“I’m sorry,” Techno says again, maybe to Phil, maybe to Tommy, maybe to himself. It’s been a while since he’s really felt like he needed to apologize.

In a different timeline, the voices didn’t get too loud. In a different timeline, Karl did everything in his power to make sure Tommy could live. In a different timeline, Tommy  _ did _ live.

But this isn’t that timeline. 

In this timeline, Phil buries his last son where nobody will ever find his body. 


	2. A Part Two

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> When the voices finally clear out, Techno is left with the consequences of his own actions. 
> 
> He'd killed Tommy.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Combining Hetalover and Kitty1304’s requests. “Maybe have Tommy survive just long enough to have the conversation abt thinking techno would give him back to Dream” and “a part two of this from techno’s pov”

* * *

Rolling into battle high on emotions was almost muscle memory for Technoblade at this point. 

At first, losing himself to the bloodlust that the voices filled him with had been terrifying. As a new God, he hadn’t known what had been happening as his senses were consumed by noise, and when he finally came back to himself, he’d been covered in blood. It’d taken years to figure it out, and the overwhelming relief that came with doing so had been a blessing.

Eventually, Techno made peace with the fact that he shared his headspace with the voices. They were always there, sometimes lingering like ghosts in his peripherals, other times talking so loud he couldn’t hear anything but the buzz. He worked with them, worked around them, and he figured it out.

As long as he kept a good handle on his emotions, he wouldn’t get lost. The voices let him know of things in advance, or things he missed, and life was relatively calm. In exchange, the lid would come off of his emotions when he rolled into battle, and the voices sang. 

So rolling into battle this time, cutting down soldiers of L’Manburg and the neighboring Kingdom that Eret ruled over, was easy. Techno succumbed easily to the red haze that the voices brought, rolling back into his conscience with ease. The thrill of battle was alight in his veins, and with his recent strong emotions at the helm, the battleship would never sink.

The red haze of bloodlust consumes his vision, blurring people until they are near unrecognizable, drowning out the sounds of explosives as the Chaos God works methodically above him. Phil’s manic laughter is filtered in, the voices singing old battle songs at the sound.

_Blood for the Blood God!_ They cry, harmonious in their morbid song. _L’Manburg burns!_

The armies that have come to fight him mean nothing to him, and Phil’s demons stay off his back. Techno slices through poorly thrown together armor as though it were wheat, leaving corpses in his wake. He has no set destination, no goal in mind except destruction and death. War is all he has ever been good for, after all.

“Technoblade!” Another voice filters in amidst the voices, though this one is freestanding. Rage and hurt boil through Techno’s veins with the sound of it, and he turns on his heel, sword ready.

It takes a moment to parse exactly who it is, but the red haze slowly gives way to Tommy’s face. His eyes are hard, and his stance is loose, and he isn’t wearing armor. The voices snarl around Techno’s ears, shouting so loudly he can’t hear what Tommy says next. The red haze moves back in, coating Tommy in its ichor, dripping from his limbs.

Coming into battle without armor was a move that spelled death. It makes Tommy weak, leaves him vulnerable, and that isn’t the fight Techno wanted. It won’t stop him anyway, though, not as the Axe of Peace gleams in Tommy’s hand. It shouldn’t be possible, yet more rancor froths over Techno’s already red-clouded eyes.

Tommy parries his first two attacks, stance strong as he defends himself, but Techno knows these moves. They’re his own, and Tommy has never possessed the strength he did. When Tommy would spar with him, though he was strong, he had to more often rely on his smaller size and increased agility to ever hope to best the Blood God. Tommy doesn’t move very far, now.

“This is what you get, Tommy!” Techno shouts once Tommy has stumbled backward, kneeling over him and pushing _down._ Tommy cries out, tears in his eyes, and some of the red haze begins to pull away. “You thought you could betray me _and_ defend a government? I’d have fought them all for you, Tommy! Everything I did for you-”

There’s a sharp pain that radiates down Techno’s right arm as he is shoved forcefully away, and by the time he stops tumbling, he’s staring up at the sky. Dream’s TNT machines don’t quite reach over here, so all Techno can see are the stars. He’s winded, confusion slowly taking place of the rage he’d felt moments before. His sword is no longer in his hand.

_No!_ The voices cry, outraged at the interruption. _Not yet! Not yet! Not yet not ye̴̛̛̦͓̹̲̭̊͘t̸̯̠̟̘̳͋̑ ̵̛̪̪̞̣̪̓n̵̥̋̚͝͝ö̸͎̩̩͕̗̖̰͚́̈́̿̈́͑̂͋̓̚͜ͅẗ̵̢̜̩̟́͐͌̉́̃͊͛͘ ̵͖̦̭͙̼͐̃̽̽̆̄y̸̗͙͍͕͖͙̮̔̊̽͒̿̑͝͝ĕ̸̦͉̳̺̖͓͍͕̋͛t̶̢̛̛͎̺̜̓̐̿̐͗͠!̶̝͔̤͓̎͆̓͝͝ͅ_

It takes him a moment, just a sliver of time, to realize the voices are slowly beginning to weep. They’re all saying the same thing, though the rage is less hot, slowly cooling in the palms of Techno’s hands. He’s grasping at straws, searching for an answer as to _why_ they’re all suddenly so remorseful. They’ve never cared about being pulled from the haze before.

_Tommy,_ they weep, twisted and lost amongst the cacophony of grief, and Techno’s perfectly crafted war crumbles between his crushing fingers. He understands.

Realization is like a punch in the gut, slamming into him so rapidly that, were he not already flat on his back, he’d have tripped. He scrambles to his feet and begins to climb the small cliff he’d been thrown over, ignoring the pain in his arm as he goes. He calls for Phil the second he crests the top, but his next words die in his throat the moment he finally _sees._

He knew, to some extent, that he’d hurt Tommy. He just didn’t know how _badly_ he hurt him. 

“Tommy-” he says, hands hovering over Tommy’s body like he can do something, but there’s already too much blood. Techno has killed enough mortals to know how much blood they can lose before they die.

He’s- he’s _killed Tommy._ Tommy is going to die and it’s _his fault._

Tommy grins up at him like he isn’t bleeding to death, teeth stained as red as the cape Techno tries to press on him as if that will do something. He twitches as though he’s trying to wave Techno’s sputtered apologies away, but he can’t. 

“Don’t worry,” Tommy mumbles, swallowing harshly in a way that makes Phil sob. “It was- was gonna happen anyway. M’ not mad.”

Techno hates him. Techno hates Tommy _so much._ Tommy wiggles his fingers and makes failed attempts to reach for Techno’s hand, and after Techno pulls off one of his gloves, he takes Tommy’s hand. It’s so small in his, yet this is the biggest it’s ever been. The biggest it’ll ever be.

“Sorry I left,” Tommy coughs, blood-slick fingers twitching in Techno’s. “You were gonna- give me back to- to Dream. So. Tubbo would- wouldn’t do that.”

“He exiled you,” Techno whispers, but the words are bitter on his tongue. “I would’ve fought them all for you, Tommy. Always.”

“But you- hate me.”

It’s a punch directly into his lungs, those four words. The sincerity with which Tommy says them, the easy acceptance that rolls off his tongue. Like it’s the truth. 

It couldn’t be any further from it. 

“I don’t,” Techno promises, voice tight with tears, but Tommy doesn’t hear him. His gaze stays lost somewhere over Techno’s shoulder, and his thin fingers go limp in Techno’s hand. The claim snaps back into Techno’s body as though he’s been struck by lightning, but the pieces of his soul don’t fit together anymore. The part that had been wound so tightly with Tommy’s is splintered irreparably.

Phil weeps, curling tighter around Tommy’s burnt body, tears dripping rapidly into Tommy’s hair. His wings tuck in tightly, shielding Tommy’s body from sight. People have begun to gather, wanting to see what’s garnered the attention of two of the Gods who’d been attacking them, but Techno doesn’t think they’ll like what they see.

When Tubbo shoves his small body between Techno and Tommy, the Blood God finally drops Tommy’s hand and hurries to his feet. He bumps into Eret as he does so, the shorter God making a small noise of shock at the sight Techno moving reveals, but he doesn’t stick around to hear what they have to say.

He’d killed Tommy. He’d _killed Tommy._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> the full requests for this one were-
> 
> Hetalover: more angst pls! Maybe have Tommy survive just long enough to have the conversation abt thinking techno would give him back to Dream, and that being why he left?  
> and  
> Kitty1304: could we maybe get a part two of this from techno’s pov? Like the voices get too much, he stabs tommy, wakes up and realizes what he did, toms dies, and then his angsty oh shit i did this and maybe the realization that tommy knew that this would happen and knew he would die and angst ensues
> 
> hope i did them enough justice!


	3. Tommy Has Wings

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Claims manifest differently. Wilbur got magic-
> 
> but Tommy got wings.
> 
> He wishes he didn't.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> part of secretlyoutofcontrol's request: more stuff with him struggling with having wings
> 
> idk if this is exactly what you meant, but i hope it's okay

* * *

Tommy is five years old, and he is very,  _ very _ lost. He gets adopted, and he gets a brother, and they all build a treehouse. He also gets a dad and an uncle? brother? He’s not sure, but they’re cool, too. Phil always takes him up up  _ up _ into the sky with his wings, and Tommy wishes he had some of his own. Techno won’t teach him how to fight because he’s “too little”, whatever that means.

Tommy is six years old, and he has wings now. 

They’d hurt coming in, and Tommy had sobbed endlessly into Phil’s shoulder while they burst through the skin and left blood everywhere. Ingesting any kind of healing potion would have just made the appendages rip through freshly formed skin, so those were out of the question, but Techno still rubbed numbing gel around the heated, bloody openings. Wilbur insisted he could do it, but he took one look at Tommy’s back and promptly vomited all over the floor.

The wings themselves, when they first came in, were entirely skin. They were really ugly, actually. After about a week, they grew fluffy, white down feathers. Tommy ran his fingers through them endlessly, and so would Wilbur when he was really stressed, and Phil would just admire them. Techno didn’t like to touch them all that much, and Tommy couldn’t figure out why.

_ (Only family members and people he loves are supposed to touch his wings. People he trusts with his life. It’s a big thing, he learned later in life.) _

Tommy is seven years old, and the down feathers are gone, bright yellow ones have taken their place where they emerge from his shoulder blades. As they spread outward from his scapulars and marginals, they fade to a soft white. Tommy’s wings are his pride and joy. Techno has to teach him how to fight a different way, now, and Wilbur always has to straighten his feathers for him afterward because he can’t seem to spar without getting them dirty.

Tommy is eight years old, and he is the greatest fighter to exist. Technoblade is pretty good at fighting, too. Phil is teaching him how to glide, but he hasn’t taught him how to fly just yet. He promised he would for Tommy’s ninth birthday, and Wilbur is excited, too, but Tommy is convinced he’s ready now. He jumps from the top of the treehouse that he and Wilbur built to prove that he is ready, and he is very quickly proven that he wasn’t. Phil just sighs good-naturedly and creates a sling to let his wing heal properly. Wilbur threatens to hit Techno with his guitar when the Blood God laughs.

Tommy is nine years old, and he can’t reach the back of his wings. Phil took Wilbur out to play for one of the worlds he’s found, and he left Tommy here with Techno. Usually, Phil would leave Tommy by himself, but Techno is banned from the world they’d gone to, so he’d stayed here, too. None of this is important, though, because Tommy can’t reach the back of his wings to preen them. He’s trying to be quiet as he reaches and misses and reaches and misses, but they itch something terrible. 

Techno finds him like that, crying as he desperately tries to reach the molting feathers on his back, and he sits behind him to help. Tommy hadn’t asked him because he knew how much Techno doesn’t want to touch his wings, but he didn’t technically ask this time. Techno just opened his door, said ‘I heard you crying in here like a little baby’, and then sat down behind him. They don’t talk about it when Techno is done.

Tommy is ten years old, and Phil promised he’d teach him how to fly when he came back. Wilbur has a kid now, which is cool, Tommy supposes. Fundy usually stays with Sally, though. 

Tommy is eleven years old, and he really wants to believe Phil will come back. He’s holding out for Phil to come back so he can teach him. They could talk about the places Phil went, and if Phil teaches him how to fly, he can start going places, too. They can all travel as a family. 

...His wings have stopped growing without Phil around.

Tommy is twelve years old, and he doesn’t think Phil is coming back. He’s waited for so long, but he really doesn’t think his dad is coming back. 

Tommy is thirteen years old, and he meets Tubbo for the first time. They very quickly become best friends- no one in the nearby village likes them that much. They’re two humans with animal features. Tubbo has horns and ram ears, and Tommy has big yellow wings. Tubbo’s dad isn’t really around, so Tommy just kind of… steals him from the orphanage.

Tommy is fifteen, and Fundy’s mom dies. He comes to live with them, and Wilbur gets all sad. He has a hard time looking at Fundy, so Tommy plays with his fox nephew and his best friend in the treehouse. Fundy’s growing up faster than most hybrids, and Tommy kind of wonders what his mother was. Wilbur never said.

Tommy is sixteen years old, and he doesn’t  _ want _ Phil to come back. He’s too tall for his wings to work anymore. Each one is supposed to be at least the same height as he is- his wingspan is supposed to be at least fourteen feet. The wings stopped growing when he was eleven, though. 

He hates them.

Dream doesn’t allow flying on his world, and even though Tommy’s wings are flightless, he binds them up and hides them under his shirt. Binding them hurts terribly at first, because even though they’d been small, they’d still been strong. He kept working them every day with the hope that they’d start growing again.

The longer he binds them, the weaker they get. The less it hurts. The muscles shrivel and die the longer he neglects them, and the only people who know are Tubbo and Fundy. Tommy doesn’t even plan to stay here that long, anyway, so it’s fine. 

Things go wonky when Wilbur comes to the world. Tommy hadn’t thought they’d ever see him again when he said he ‘needed space’ and left their little cottage. Neither he nor Tubbo had had the heart to tell Fundy that people don’t come back when they leave, so they’d taken him to Dream’s world and left a note on the off chance someone  _ did _ come back. Apparently, Wilbur did.

And he- he kind of ruins everything, if Tommy is being honest.

He’d missed his brother, and he’s glad his brother came back, but Wilbur is different. Wilbur wants independence, and they fight a war for it. Tommy loses two of the lives he’s supposed to have. Things are scary, now, but Wilbur doesn’t really seem to understand. Tommy writes Phil a letter in hopes he’ll come back and he’ll help, and he drops one of his weak, pale feathers inside of it.

Phil is the only person who can stop Wilbur.

Phil doesn’t answer.

There are a lot of smaller wars, but they’re not too bad. Phil still doesn’t answer any of the letters. Clementine promises she delivers them, and that just- it hurts. It sits wrong on Tommy’s tongue, tasting putrid and ashy, and he hates it. Phil is deliberately ignoring him. 

It makes sense, though, because Tommy had only ever had one life in the cottage, so why is this any different? This isn’t any different at all.

One other person knows about Tommy’s wings, now: Quackity. He himself has large golden wings and webbing between his fingers, and Tommy offers to show him how to bind his wings up. He refuses, and Dream makes him cut his flight feathers. Tommy is almost glad his wings aren’t big enough for him to fly.

He misses the cottage, and he misses Phil and Techno, and he misses when life wasn’t complete shit. He misses when his wings -though small- were strong. When he could flap them around and cushion his falls. Now they’re just an odd lump on his back, a hindrance when he tries to sleep. He… he contemplates having them cut off on more than one occasion. They’re lame, there’s no point in keeping them.

But severing the wings from his body will sever Phil’s claim, and he doesn’t think he can do that. He doesn’t  _ want _ to do that.

When Schlatt comes back, when they lose, when they’re banished from the home Wilbur worked tirelessly for, and Tubbo is trapped inside, Tommy hesitantly pens a letter to Technoblade. He and Wilbur are only on one life each, now, and with the way things are going, he doesn’t think they’ll stay alive for long. 

He doesn’t expect Techno to answer, let alone  _ show up. _

Techno asks him what happened to his wings, and when Tommy pulls his shirt off to show him, the Blood God is horrified. He’s furious when Tommy explains that Dream doesn’t allow flying on his world.

Tommy doesn’t tell him that his wings wouldn’t be able to fly, anyway.

Dream doesn’t really come down to Pogtopia, so Tommy can actually have his wings out. They’re terribly pale with the lack of sunlight, but they’re out, and they slowly build muscle back into them with Techno’s training. He’d been more upset than Wilbur about the state of his wings.

It’s- Tommy doesn’t know  _ how _ exactly it happens, but his wings start to grow again. Not very quickly -they’re probably stunted beyond belief- but they grow. He asks Techno if Phil is anywhere nearby, but the Death God is nowhere to be seen. Tommy can’t figure out why they’re growing.

_ (It only takes the presence of a God who laid a claim on him- not  _ **_the_ ** _ God.) _

He still can’t fly, not really, and he has to keep them bound every single time he leaves, but his feathers grow back. He preens them often, enjoying the feeling of them in between his feathers, and he lets Tubbo do it whenever he sees him. He goes to Wilbur the first time he needs the backs done while they’re in Pogtopia- he’s molting, after all.

Wilbur pulls too hard. He pulls out blood feathers. He says it’s an accident.

Tommy doesn’t go to him again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ive got the worst writers block rn and it fucking shows you guys. this is the WORST time for me to have it too, i was so excited to start writing the requests- ive been so ready to write them. ive started like six different ones and i literally sit there like 👁👄👁 trying to figure out what the fuck to say. i hope this goes away soon; you all have such good ideas
> 
> i know the ending to this one was kind of abrupt. its actual ass. im very unhappy with it.


	4. Brotherblade To The Rescue

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tommy's out further past the yard than he should be, and he nearly faces the consequences.
> 
> What do these guys want with an eight-year-old, anyway?

* * *

Tommy’s eight years old and probably _the_ best fighter in the entire world.

Technoblade is a close second, obviously, but that’s to be expected. Tommy’s teacher has to be at least as good as he is. He’s definitely more _lame_ than Tommy is, though, since he just sits inside and reads his dumb books all day. He’d been teaching Tommy how to read, but a lot of the words in his books are way too big, and Tommy does _not_ have enough time in his day to have a headache over big words. 

So he’s playing outside all by himself, chasing birds with his wooden practice sword and fighting bad guys only he can see. The wind whispers gently through the trees and carries soft harmonies across the leaves, interrupted often by the expletives Tommy hurls at the sky. Not _at_ the sky, obviously. He’d have to be an idiot to swear at her, and he’s not stupid.

He _is_ playing a little farther down the path than he’s supposed to. He can’t see the front door anymore -which is Techno’s only rule about going to play in the yard- but that’s not a huge deal. He’s a big man, he can handle himself.

Plus: Wilbur and Phil are gone, so the porch is empty. Phil is usually gone anyway, but he normally takes Techno, and Wilbur will sit on the porch and play his guitar. Sometimes he’ll even play with Tommy. They make countries together, or sometimes they’re pirates and the treehouse is their ship, and other times they’re running from black holes. It’s fun. Tommy doesn’t like to look at the porch when Wilbur isn’t on it.

So he’s out in the woods, and he’s taking out his anger on trees.

“Hey there, buddy,” someone says behind him, and their tone of voice already has his skin crawling. He’s not a _child._

He turns around and there’s a group of three men standing in an almost perfect triangle around him. They’ve boxed him almost perfectly against the tree trunk. Boxed like a fish. Techno would scold him for being snuck up on that easily, but he was shouting too loudly to hear them coming. It’s not his fault.

“Ello, gentlemen,” Tommy says back, inching toward the gap between the slowest looking guy and the tree trunk. He is, once again, not stupid, and he knows that he can’t take all of these guys at once. At least not with his practice sword- he could easily do it if he had a real one. “What brings you out ‘ere?”

“Oh, you know,” the one in front of his shrugs, holding a suspicious-looking sack in one of his hands. “Just walking.”

“Looking for stuff to sell,” says another one. His voice is like the villain voices Techno does when he reads aloud about the Greek heroes he likes so much. Tommy very much does _not_ like the villain voice in this scenario. 

Tommy makes himself nod, pretending he’s not trembling so bad his sword might start knocking against the tree. He’s almost home-free; he’s nearly inched himself through the rapidly closing gap. He swallows as he tries to keep up any kind of casual conversation. “What kind of stuff?”

The three of them seem to share a look, matching smiles on their faces. They look a lot like the cartoon villains in the little comic books Phil sometimes brings back.

“Stuff nobody’s gonna miss.”

No, yeah, Tommy’s getting the _fuck_ out of here.

He turns on his heel and books it, chucking his wooden sword over his shoulder so it can’t slow him down. He’s a lot farther than he thought he was- he can barely see the front yard through the trees. The three guys are really loud, and there’s no way they can be faster than him, but they sure sound like it-

A hand clamps down on his arm, and Tommy does not hesitate as he screams Technoblade’s name. 

He thrashes, kicking his legs, flailing all four feet of his body in an attempt to get them to let go. Their hands are rough, pulling at his shirt and his hair as they try to stuff him in the sack. Who the fuck puts kids in sacks?

“Techno!” He sobs, frightened tears burning at the backs of his eyes. “Technoblade! Help! Please! _Techno!”_

What do these guys even want with him? All he was doing was practicing with his sword, scaring the birds and the rabbits. What are they going to do to him? 

Why isn’t Techno here yet? Is he too far away?

Just as the thoughts enter his mind, just as they manage to finally pull the sack over his head and block out his vision, there’s a sickening sound of a blade passing swiftly through meat and bone. Hot liquid pours all down Tommy’s back, and all three of the men scream. 

“Hullo,” Technoblade says, and Tommy’s entire body sags in relief. He’d heard him. He came. His voice sounds a little weird, angry in a way Tommy’s never heard, but it’s still him. “You have something of mine.”

“Ta- take him back!” One of them shouts, shoving Tommy forward onto the ground. He bumps his head on a sharp rock, and he cries out. “ You already cut off Jacob’s arm! Just- just let us go!”

Techno makes a small tsking sound, almost like a disappointed parent, but it’s darker. The sound sends a shiver down Tommy’s spine. “Selfish, _ignorant_ mortals,” Techno snarls. “Not even Death could save you from me.”

There’s more screaming after that, more shouted profanities and the sound of blades meeting, and Tommy’s frazzled brain decides very quickly that it is time to get as far away from the sounds as physically possible. His hands are bound behind his back, but he wiggles away on his side until he can curl up at the base of a tree. The tearing of flesh still meets his ears, tainted and wet, alongside a manic cackle wearing Techno’s voice. 

Tommy decides very quickly that he doesn’t like that sound.

Everything stops pretty soon- all sound except Tommy’s own breathing absent. Tommy had scared all the birds away earlier, and it’s like even the bugs are holding their breath. Footsteps crunch the grass coming toward him, and Tommy curls tighter into himself, pressing his covered face into his knees.

“Tommy,” Technoblade says, voice some kind of twist between whatever had stolen it and laughed like that, and the Techno who pretends not to like the pictures Tommy draws. “You’re okay. They can’t get you now.”

Techno’s hands are gentle as he helps him sit up, and very slowly, he undoes the sack they’d tied around Tommy’s head with one hand and cuts the ropes around his wrists with a small dagger. Or maybe it’s his sword. Tommy can’t really see right now.

The sack comes off, and Technoblade stares back at him. His eyes are a little red, and there’s a splatter of blood on his cheek, and his hair is out of its old loose braid, but it’s Techno. He inhales deeply, and the red of his eyes fades a little more. 

“Wanna head home?” Techno asks, as kindly as he can, and Tommy nods.

He hesitates before holding his arms out, and Techno only sighs as he picks him up. He doesn’t call Tommy a child like he usually does, doesn’t make mean comments. He just picks him up, hooks an arm around the backs of Tommy’s thighs, and stands. 

“Tomorrow, I think we’ll learn about severing tendons,” Techno says, all matter-of-fact, like that’s going to help. It kind of does, honestly. He continues on as if there isn’t a sniveling boy half his size cowering in his arms. “There’s this thing called the Achilles tendon, Tommy, and it’ll help you out if you ever get cornered again.”

Tommy’s glad Techno stayed behind this time.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> the full request was-  
> Universal_Doggo: Takes place when Tommy was still an eight year old kid, and him, Wilbur, Techno and Phil are living in like, a cottage out in the woods. Phil takes Wilbur out with him on, like, a week trip away from the cottage, and it's just kid Tommy and Techno at home. Tommy is outside the cottage being a kid and Techno's inside reading The Art of War or some shit, and some idiots come across the cottage. They see Tommy alone and try to lead him away to kidnap him, Tommy figures out what's happening and screams, and the idiots try and physically drag him away. Techno, hearing Tommy's scream, comes out with a sword and is like, "Imma bout to stab some bitches."
> 
> my groove ain't back yet yall, but im workin on it. hope this was good


	5. Techno VS The Past

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Technoblade has believed himself unchanging for so incredibly long- until he was faced with change even he couldn't ignore.
> 
> He would give anything to go back. To change the way things were.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> writhen_writ: perhaps techno wakes up when tommy & wilbur are still kids and its sad but fluffy?
> 
> i have a discord now? no server or anything bc im shit at making them, but my lil tag thing is just n8#9488 if you guys want to talk to me or something. i won't be mad if you don't.  
> my thoughts on the march 1st streams at the end. y'all knew it was coming

* * *

For a very,  _ very _ long time, Technoblade had believed himself unchanging.

He had believed that he would always be the way that he was, following his own footsteps across countless worlds for the entirety of his unending lifetime. He would spill blood, and he would end lives, and he would fight for the only thing he believed in. 

He had believed, in his infinite wisdom, that he would do all of these things with no consideration for mortal life. Mortals did not mean a thing to him, and they never would. He would crush their puny lives beneath the blade of his axe or his sword, and he would leave their souls for Phil to collect.

And then he had met Wilbur. 

And then he had met Tommy.

Suddenly, things started to be more about how it would affect them and less about how he felt. 

As soon as he realized that his first thought wasn’t, “I want to do this,” or, “this is something I’d like,” but instead, “What would they think of this?” he pushed the thoughts as far away from himself as he could. It was not good for his brand -nor his sanity- to consider mortals in his plans. They were fleeting forces of life that wouldn’t last, and all they were meant to mean to him was heartbreak he would have to witness in his closest friend.

He was not meant to get attached, and when he realized he was, he denied it until he could convince himself that he wasn’t. Until he could pretend that he had convinced himself that he wasn’t. It was an endless cycle of being hyper-aware of how things would affect them and then pretending he hadn’t considered it at all. 

This was the most logical course of action, and he planned to follow through with it until they died. He had at least half a century to work on these thoughts, at most a century. Time did not mean much to Gods to begin with, but now it was his favorite thing. Time was on his side in this situation.

The problem with believing oneself unchanging, static in your ways, is that you can and will go to great lengths to make sure you don’t change. Changing is too unknown, too full of possible mistakes and mishaps. As long as Phil’s mortals lived, Techno could believe that he hadn’t changed. There was no proof.

Until there was.

He had never considered that he wouldn’t even have twenty years.

In all logic, he should have felt nothing when Wilbur died. In all his unchanging glory, Wilbur’s death would have done nothing to him except inspire concern at the mental state of his longest friend, who had slain his own mortal with his bare hands. 

In all logic, the same should have been said about Tommy. The boy’s death at the hands of Dream should have meant nothing to him except the increased concern, once again, for Phil. Wilbur and Tommy were Phil’s mortals, and as such, he would be the most hurt by their deaths.

Yet he has never felt more empty. He has never felt more stripped bare, more at a loss than he is now. He cannot even begin to reach for Phil when he has yet to find it in himself to breathe again. They were meant to mean nothing to him, yet they had meant everything. 

And now they are gone. 

To think, he had thought himself unchanging. To think, he had believed himself better than this. To think, he had found safety in the surety that nothing could have gone wrong.

How had it all gone so wrong?

The sun still rises, the clouds still move, the trees still grow. The people mourn the loss of Tommy, of Wilbur, but they do not change. Life moves on for everyone except Techno -and Phil, he supposes- the God who had believed himself above it all. He could not change, and yet he had. 

Without his permission, his soul had attached itself to two mortals who he knew he would lose. Somehow, though he’d thought of it constantly, it never occurred to him that he would genuinely lose them. They had only been such a small part of his long life, yet they were so prominent. 

Murder and revenge, the shedding of blood, do not provide the same release as they used to. The voices no longer sing battle songs, no longer shout encouragement, but instead weep softly in a corner of his mind he can’t quite reach. They were not prepared for this loss either. Nothing could have prepared him for the emptiness that came with two parts of his soul being ripped from his bloodstained hands.

So, instead, he sleeps. And he mourns. And he dreams.

He wakes late into the morning, eyes crusted with something he will never call tears, but the bed he lies in does not feel right. It is too soft, and the light across his closed eyelids does not fall right. The chill of the tundra is absent. 

“You think we should wake him up?” A small voice asks from somewhere to his left. He recognizes it- it’s plagued him for far too long.

“Maybe?” Another voice, older but still so young, answers. “He doesn’t usually sleep this late. He might be sick?”

“Can Gods  _ get _ sick?” Tommy questions incredulously.

“I don’t think so,” Wilbur responds.

Techno opens his eyes quickly, and he is met with the ceiling of Phil’s old cottage. He doesn’t know how he got here. He sits up and turns in his bed to face the doorway, staring at the two mortals who look like they’ve just been caught doing something they weren’t supposed to be. If he remembers correctly, they  _ are  _ doing something they’re not supposed to be. He hadn’t liked it when they came into his room without asking.

He can’t really find it in himself to care, now.

He doesn’t say anything for a long,  _ long  _ time. Just studies them, the light in their eyes, the life in their cheeks. Wilbur’s wearing a sweater far too big for him, even as he seemingly goes through a growth spurt. He’s fourteen. Tommy is tiny by his side, small hand fisted in the fabric of Wilbur’s pant leg, baby fat still keeping his face round. He’s six.

Somehow, Techno remembers that he hadn’t cared all that much to observe the details at the time. Now, though, he’s never been more grateful.

“Tommy wanted you to make breakfast,” Wilbur says, finally, after the silence stretches on too long. Tommy stomps a tiny socked foot down on Wilbur’s own, but it doesn’t do much.

Techno remembers telling them no.

“Yeah, sure,” he says instead, swinging his legs over the side of the bed. “Let me get dressed.”

Both boys light up, and they smile at him as though he’s hung the very moon, and then they disappear down the hallway. Techno can hear them giggling as they stomp into the living room. He sits there for a while, and he just takes in the room, and he tunes into his own head.

Chat is ecstatic. They’re cheering, shouting so loudly in the little corner they refuse to leave about how good this is. About how much they’d missed this. A small portion cry, mourning the loss of their bright-eyed boys. Techno can’t think about that right now. He’s going to enjoy this while he has it, however he has it.

He dresses quickly, shutting his door behind him as he steps into the hall. Tommy and Wilbur banter rather loudly amongst themselves and the TV, their giggles increasing in volume when the man on the TV swears, and they both mimic him. 

Techno remembers telling them to keep their voices down before he'd asked where Phil had gone and then left to find him.

He says nothing, this time. Simply watches them from the hall for a long moment before stepping into the kitchen.

The stove starts, and he collects the pans and bowls required to make breakfast. He knows how they take their pancakes, now, even though he hadn’t known before. All this knowledge he found himself in possession of had never been put to use because he hadn’t  _ allowed _ himself to do so, even though a small part of him had craved it. 

He couldn’t change.

He had.

Small footsteps thud into the kitchen, and then Tommy is staring up at him from the floor. Techno had forgotten how tiny he was, back then. Tommy had always been tiny in comparison to his own Godly size, but he had been so small when he was young. 

“Can I see?” Tommy asks, head tilted just so, hesitation clear on his face. He hasn’t yet learned that in order to be indulged, to be taken seriously, he must be loud and brash and demanding. He is still small, still innocent. Still a child.

He’d never stopped being a child.

Before, Techno would have scoffed in his face and told him no. This time, he settles Tommy on his hip as though he’s some kind of mother and lets the kid help him flip pancakes. Tommy prattles on and on about the animals he’d seen the day before, uncaring of whether or not the Blood God is listening. He is, though, and he does so intently. He hadn’t realized just how much he missed the sound of Tommy’s voice until he was never going to hear it again.

When he turns to set the plates on the table, Tommy still situated on his hip, Wilbur is watching him strangely. His brow is furrowed, mouth pulled into a thin line.

“Techno,” Wilbur calls once they’ve sat down, nose scrunched in contemplation, “can Gods get sick? You’re acting rather strange.”

He could say yes. He doesn’t. He just shrugs, a mischievous little half-smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. “Maybe weaker Gods.” He says, and Wilbur snorts.

Wilbur takes Tommy outside after breakfast, and the two of them play in the fallen leaves. They climb into their treehouse and claim themselves President and Vice, and Techno can only watch. Before, he would have tried to educate them on why the government was bad. Before, he would have ruined their game with facts and logic, and they would have given up to do something else.

Not this time. This time, he plays along when they call on him. This time, he pretends to be a voter in their ballot, a soldier in their war. This time, he does exactly what they ask of him, and he remembers that they are mortal children. 

The day passes far faster than he could ever want it to, and soon, the stars come out. Tommy’s eyelids are drooping, his movements sluggish. He squishes himself against Techno’s side on the couch and drags Wilbur with him, sandwiching himself and a blanket between his brothers.

That’s what Techno is: their big brother.

“Could you tell us that story again, Techno?” Wilbur asks, head resting on the arm he has propped atop Tommy’s head. “The one about Theseus?”

Techno hates this story, now. All he can see are their corpses, Wilbur’s stabbed through, Tommy’s beaten bloody. He wishes he’d done more. He wishes he hadn’t been so caught up in his own image.

“Nah. I’ve got a new one for you.”

He regales them with stories of three brothers and their father, conquering worlds and establishing kingdoms. He talks long after they fall asleep, and he keeps talking until the sun begins to rise. He doesn’t want to let go of this. 

To think, for so long, he had believed himself unchanging. Look at him now.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i am so incredibly heartbroken. im so hurt. like i just- don't even have the words to describe how badly this hurt me. idk dudes. what tommy and dream did with the storyline makes me feel physically ill. their story-telling is phenomenal, don't get me wrong, but im so hurt. they chose to beat a sixteen year old to death. a sixteen year old who had already been abused and manipulated and abandoned. he just wanted closure. it fucks with me like it does because children of abuse (anyone who has been abused in general) deserve to get out. they deserve their closure and their freedom, and they deserve to _heal_. i know they did what they did for a reason, and i know they have other plans, but im still so hurt. i hope fellow victims are okay right now, especially if they attached to tommy the same way i did and then had to watch him live their worst nightmare. we'll get out one day. we'll be free and we'll heal and we'll _live_.

**Author's Note:**

> more about requests: literally don't be ashamed. i might have to say no to certain aspects of your request just because im not comfortable writing them, but I'll still try my best.
> 
> if you have a specific song you feel like i should listen to that reminds you of a character but no prompt to go with it, tell me the song and the character! I'll give it a listen and see if it gives my brain the creative juice or not. you can also request things that aren't related to my gods au if you'd like


End file.
